


Secondhand Heartbreak

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Douchestuck, M/M, Peer Pressure, Trust Issues, tw: bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, secondhand heartbreak hurts more, lasts longer, if only because the fear festers a little deeper, like a small scratch on a record that grows larger in time. You don't want that heartbreak for yourself, so you hide. You hide yourself under so many layers that you can't break free, because it's the prison that you've put yourself in.</p><p>You're so scared of what's outside in the wild, that you don't bother to fear for what's inside, for what you've done to yourself.</p><p> </p><p>[a.k.a. that fic no one asked for where all the kids are douchebags and they break each other's hearts]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Heartbreak

Being in high school automatically entails shitty experiences. It's a given, considering how they're all teenagers with rampaging hormones crammed into one place at the same time. Never mind the fact that he stays away from people most of the time- being fucked with is practically a requirement when it comes to going to school.

 

It was mostly about his red eyes, at first. Ever since grade school, it had happened, and it's never stopped.  It sucked, and it made him want to die sometimes because as much as it's easy to talk about in fiction, being seen as hideous is _horrible_ and not having any friends, feeling lonely and left out, always leaves a large hole in his chest because he wants to be wanted. He wants to be needed.

 

 _Having money would be easier,_ he had thought to himself at age thirteen as he gathered his books from the floor, the blood that had been punched out of him leaving a bitter and metallic taste on his tongue. Paying people off to leave him alone- that would have been the life.

 

In high school, he had assumed that everything would be the same.

 

He was both right and wrong.

 

 

\-----

 

 

"Hey there, sweet cheeks. Think you can spare me some time for after school? Dinner? My treat."

 

This is what's different.

 

"No," he says in monotone, ignoring the yells ("Jake, you said it would work this time!" "Hey, I told you that it was highly dependent on the receiver of the message!") as he packs his things into his satchel. He barely has to look back to know that Egbert is following after him when he walks through the hallway.

 

"Come on, give me a chance," Egbert plead-whines, trying to catch up to him as he avoids the crowd as much as he possibly can. "Please! Just one date."

 

"I told you before, I'm telling you again: no," he growls, his hands clutching onto his satchel with a vice grip as though it's a lifeline. Why can't John leave him alone?

 

"Why not!" Egbert yelps as he sidesteps someone rushing back to the school. "Dave!"

 

"Because I don't trust you," he says simply, looking back to let the brunet know that he means it, before turning his gaze forward again as he leaves.

 

This difference is more painful than being pushed around in middle school.

 

 

\----

 

 

"You wouldn't have to be limited in your number of models if you made more friends, you understand," Rose says with a raised brow when he shifts her arm on the windowsill of the library. "The concept of my being busy is highly probable, Strider."

 

"Shut up and sit still," he grouses, lifting his camera from his chest as he moves back, before snapping a photo of her leaning on the window, arm folded with her hand under her chin, her eyes turned to the scene outside. The lighting almost makes her look like an angel, which is a ridiculous notion when he knows how much of a manipulative and flighty broad she is. "There, I'm done. You can study now, you nerd."

 

"Speak for yourself," she sniffs in disdain, rolling her eyes when she notices him folding his arms on his chest in childish retaliation. "Calm down. I understand your hipster tendencies aren't for fanatical purposes, and that it's for irony."

 

"Damn right it is," he says, turning his gaze back down to his camera as he looks through the photos. "You're lucky that I think you're pretty enough to be a subject in my photo projects, Lalonde."

 

"I'm honored," she deadpans, to which he snorts. "Don't you have to study for your test? In Algebra?"

 

"Fuck."

 

She laughs.

 

 

\----

 

 

Dave, embarrassingly enough, had a crush on John Egbert before, back in middle school. John wasn't a jock then, he was more of the prankster type who liked dipping his foot into the waters of trouble, although he never got caught. He wasn't as popular, wasn't as sought after, and, well. Dave had thought that crushing on someone popular was far too mainstream a thing for him to do. 

 

Yeah, he's making that his excuse.

 

John was cute. He always had that cheery smile on his face, as though he didn't give two shits about all the worries in the world, and it brightened Dave's day up whenever he saw it. It made him think that, just maybe, there was something that could go right with the world. Sure, they weren't the best of friends, nor were they close enough, but they talked occasionally. They talked about school, about their classmates, about John's pranks, and maybe Dave tutored John a little in some subjects.

 

John was his favorite, then. He hadn't known Rose yet, and he didn't have a group of friends to call his own. John was all he had in school- which was fucking sad and pathetic no matter what angle he used to look at it.

 

He had thought that John cared, just a teensy bit. He had a big heart on him, after all.

 

Then they went to high school, and John changed. He wore varsity jackets like second skin, his grins dirty and suggestive, words a purr and flirty, and yeah, he shouldn't blame John for anything, but he thought that John would be something of a fixture. A reminder that something was good in the world, clean, maybe just the smallest bit of _innocent._ He had thought that John could be his for a little more than just a few months in middle school, even if he had him only as a friend.

 

Of course, he couldn't fucking have that. Since when did the world go easy on him, anyway?

 

 

\-----

 

 

John only realized how he had a crush on Dave when he was already in high school, established as the quarterback, and…well, popular. But it was a late revelation at that point, seeing as it’d already changed into something more without him even noticing it. It was difficult to believe at first, considering how he’d already had his own share of girlfriends and one night stands, but never a boyfriend. He’d always thought that he’d fall in love with a girl, marry her someday, and have the typical 2.5 kids and a house surrounded by a white picket fence.

 

Dave was attractive, he could admit. That was all, he’d thought. That was all it could possibly be.

 

But his middle school self didn’t agree, apparently. Not after he’d reorganized his things and found a small box labeled DS, filled with photos of him, of notes regarding topics to be studied for the exams, and of promises. One in particular being, ‘ _Bake Dave a chocolate cake._ ’

 

He never got around to doing that, did he?

 

But he shook it off as infatuation, because why the hell would that sort of thing last until high school? Just because Dave was attractive, a good friend, and smart, didn’t mean that John had a little more than a crush on him. He could get over it. Taking small peeks over his shoulder to check on Dave wasn’t that bad either, because. Well. Dave was attractive. That’s it.

 

It didn’t take too long before he noticed the bruises, however. It was hard to ignore, considering how pale Dave was and how brightly the bruises marked his skin.

 

He was furious beyond all reason, and he couldn’t even begin to explain _why._

Just as much as it didn’t take a long time for John to notice the bruises, it also didn’t take too long before the bullying in its majority stopped. He didn’t care that he had to resort to threats. He didn’t care that he had to hurt someone- because Dave had hurt _worse._ But Dave went to school anyway, always early, always with his books tucked in his arms in front of his chest as though they were a shield against everyone else in the crowd of students.

 

Looking at Dave being hurt, being miserable, lent him a new sort of pain in his chest that he grew to loathe. So he flirted. He made jokes of his attraction to the blond, because he had thought that it would make things stop. That maybe Dave would get angry at him, and he’d move on.

 

But Dave was always silent. Not once did he become furious at John, not once did he complain, not once did he actually push him _away_. He always said no, certainly- but he didn’t tell John to stop.

 

Dave had always been stronger than him, and he didn’t notice until now. He had a larger body, definitely. He had more muscular strength, more endurance, but Dave was _resilient._ There were so many people that tried to break him, so many people that had tried to tear him apart again and again- but he stood strong. He was still here, after all.

 

Dave was fragile, and yet not. He was like a wine glass, the glass substituted for acrylic plastic. He would seem breakable on first sight when dropped- but he didn’t crack all that easily.

 

Throw him down repeatedly, though, and he’ll fracture, just like anything else. Just like anyone else.

  
He didn’t want that.

 

 

\----

 

 

The bullying stops when he reaches second year.

 

It takes a while for him to notice, or to get used to it. It's new, it's a novelty and it's fucking sad that it _is._ This isn't what teenagers are supposed to go through. _This isn't what people are meant for._ But he keeps quiet, silently thanks whatever god is out there whenever their gazes are averted from his red eyes and lanky frame. His bruises are nonexistent now, his pale skin unblemished by the usual purples and reds.

 

Which is why, when a new kid bumps into him and calls him a freak after days of being left alone, he feels that sick sense of normalcy.

 

He knows that his red eyes are weird. He knows what people think. He knows that he could change himself, that he could cover it up with contacts, but he hates the trouble he has to go through to wear them, he hates having to _hide._

 

So he doesn't.

 

It's when he finds Egbert with the new kid that he gets that sick feeling again.

 

"You know my name," Egbert sneers, possibly enjoying the terror written all over the kid's face as he keeps him pinned to the wall, "and you know my place here. You think you're a big shot? You think you're something special that you can push people around? Think you're so high and mighty, huh? Newsflash, _you're not_.  So leave Dave Strider alone, or I'll find you, and god knows what will happen to you. Maybe I'll bring some of my friends to _educate_ you. You got that?"

 

He doesn't stay long enough in the corner he'd been hiding in to know what the kid has to say to that. He can't. He runs as soon as he hears the threat spilling from John's mouth, a new kind of fear making his heart pound in his ears as he tears out of the school.

 

This is what Egbert is capable of. Those threats, the sneer on his face, the grip he had on the kid's shirt, he'd never seen any of it from the brunet before. He had always thought that his brand of bullying was the teasing kind, that he flirted because he knew how discomfiting it was.

 

It doesn't matter that the threat was in his defense. It doesn't matter that Egbert was trying to _protect_ him, trying to keep him from being pushed around- because in the end, he did it like he would have any other common bully.

 

John Egbert is capable of delivering pain, and he isn't afraid to threaten anyone with it.

 

 

\----

 

 

Dave was eleven when Dirk had gotten his first girlfriend. She had brown hair, green eyes, tanned skin, and she was gorgeous. Dirk thought so, and since Dave had a habit of thinking everything his brother liked was cool, he thought she was pretty too.

 

He still hadn't grasped the concept then, that pretty things tend to have thorns.

 

So when Dirk picks him up from school, hands tight on the wheel, he doesn't understand. Dirk's eyes are puffy and red, and he looks tired- more tired than he usually is. He barely manages a smile anymore when he drives away from the school, his eyes firm on the road even as Dave taps a beat on the car door.

 

Then, Dirk murmurs,

 

"There's a special place in hell for the user, didn't mean to abuse her- oh wait, take it back, wrong track in the record player, think she's special when she claws it up, 'nother notch in the bedpost sayin' "babe you're just a pup"-  ain't no alpha wolf huh, didn't mean to disappoint ya,  could've notified the presses with the plan of self-destruction, think I couldn't  function? You're not new to the business with the obsequious kittens, say I'm not the best but you're playing here so listen,  pretty girl flying high but you don't know what to do when you fall,"

 

Dirk glances at him, cocks a wry smirk in his direction, and he can't help but add,

 

"-but wait, set it straight, think you took it all? Think again lil' lady when you try to persuade me, it takes a little more than a kiss baby, heart's iron cold and burning 'cause you're used to turning, tricks aren't what they used to be in the streets- oops, slip of the tongue, didn't mean to offend you with these beats, just sayin' that this playin' isn't my game, take a page from the tome so you know I can't be tamed, I'm not your lion man and you ain't my mistress, call off the search 'cause I won't be your witness, judges think you're a player but they don't know you're cruel, play me around thinking I'm your tool."

 

He pauses for a minute, letting their breathing speak for themselves through the traffic jam, until he begins again,

 

"Give me a little credit when I say this, been so long that you think you're my axis, but I've got a heart of steel that you won't steal with your manicured fingers, thought you'd be special in my mind 'cause your voice lingers? Too bad, so sad, couldn't write you a ballad, won't even bother tellin' you how I'll move on- oh snap, look at that, buh-bye to the last fix, think it's you I'd miss? You snooze you lose, this rap's callin' it when I say you're old news."

 

Dirk sucks in a breath when he finishes, the wry smile softening into something a little more sincere as he turns the car around, heading for one of the fast food chains they usually go to when they just feel like eating outside.

 

Dave doesn't have to hear it to know that Dirk's thanking him.

 

 

\-----

 

 

"Hey, d'you have a band-aid?"

 

"No."

 

"You were supposed to ask why," Egbert grumbles, pushing himself away from the locker he's leaning on as he regards Dave with furrowed brows. "Come on, ask me."

 

"No."

 

He tucks his books back in his arms before shutting his locker door, his red eyes actively avoiding the blue-eyed gaze sent in his direction.

 

 

\---

 

 

"If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together."

 

He doesn't look up, not once, as he stacks his books nicely in his locker.

 

"At least say something," Egbert insists.

 

"No one would let a dimwit like you rearrange the alphabet," he says with one look sent Egbert's way, before turning away and heading for his Algebra class.

 

 

\-----

 

 

"I didn't believe in heaven 'till I saw you," Egbert says as soon as he reaches his locker.

 

"I'm an atheist," he says, eyes tuned in to his locker as he opens it with his free hand.

 

He doesn't look up to know that Egbert is flustered at the comeback.

 

 

\----

 

 

"Did it hurt when you fell?"

 

"Yes."

 

All too suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder turning him around, and he lets it happen. There's a sequence of confusion, surprise, then anger written all over Egbert's face when he notices the skin becoming swollen around his eye, the glasses that had been usually covering his eyes gone after he'd broken it.

 

"Who did this to you?" Egbert growls. He would have been flattered, ecstatic, and flustered all at once had John tried to defend him when they were both younger.

 

Now he's just tired.

 

"Ask your teammates," he says as an answer, shaking off Egbert's hand from his shoulder before he heads out of the hallway and into his classroom.

 

 

\---

 

 

Predictably, Egbert's teammates treat him like the plague the day after. There are days of silence then, Egbert not bothering him even once during the whole week whenever he heads to his locker and picks up his books.

 

The routine returns once the week is done.

 

"Are you a parking ticket?"

 

"No."

 

Egbert barely takes in his answer before he adds, "'cause damn, you've got fine written all over you."

 

He doesn't say anything more before he heads to his next class, the sigh coming from Egbert far louder than usual.

 

 

\----

 

 

"Is your dad an art thief?"

 

"My father is dead," he says quickly, his grip on his books tight as he shuts his locker door and leaves. He doesn't need to stay and hear anything else Egbert has to say.

 

Later, when he returns his books to his locker, he finds roses taped to his locker door and a card saying, " _I'm sorry._ "

 

 

\----

 

 

On a Saturday night, he finds out why Dirk had to be out of the house for so long.

 

Now, first off, he has to say: Dirk isn't the type to spend his time outside, what with his focus on the mechanics of his machinery and whatever the hell else it is he does until morning comes and he still hasn't slept. If he's not working on something, he's making up for the sleep lost by sleeping in the afternoon.

 

That is to say, he is at home. A lot. Sure, at night he's out just as often too, but that's mostly because he's looking for good parts for his projects.

 

That's what Dirk has been telling him, anyway.

 

So when Dirk steps out of a sleek blue Ferrari supercar, he is surprised as fuck. Flabbergasted. His world was shaken and broken down, the whole shebang.

 

Jake English owns that car.

 

Jake English is the driver who just leaned in and kissed his brother. On the mouth. And Dirk doesn't pull away.

 

What the actual fuck.

 

His eyes must be a little blurry, or it's just a bad night, because he's not too sure about what he's seeing. Jake English is smiling goofily, unlike his usual leer, his cheeks are flushed and he's watching Dirk go back into the house like- like- like he's a fucking dame swooning after her prince charming. The mother of all idiosyncrasy is barely even that; it's how Dirk is smiling to himself as he gets closer to the house that has Dave shaken.

 

They had an unwritten agreement before not to mingle with English or Egbert's group. It was far too much trouble than it was worth, and it was hard to trust two guys who had a habit of flirting with both of them when they both weren't as high up on the social ladder as they were. It wasn't that hard to figure out that everything was a ruse, that they were pulling wool over Strider eyes because they were easy enough to victimize.

 

But Dirk obviously didn't care. He's dating the fucking supreme ruler of the social monarchy, after all.

 

 

\----

 

 

"I was going to tell you."

 

"I don't give a shit, bro," he snaps, because losing his cool in front of his brother barely matters anymore. He needs to _say_ it, goddamnit. "You were the one who told me first not to trust those two assholes! You taught me that I shouldn't let myself be led around by the dick by kids rich enough to give money away as a prize to whoever is stupid enough to give them the time of day. What changed your mind, huh? What?"

 

"Look- fucking sit down when I talk to you," Dirk growls. He stifles the snarl threatening to escape and sits down, as calmly as he possibly can in his situation. "This thing- it's just a test drive. I'm giving him a chance, I never said I was _in love with him._ "

 

"But you are!" He cries, inwardly crowing at the startled expression on Dirk's face. "You were _smiling_ when he kissed you, bro! Goddamnit- you're even lying to _me_ now."

 

"I'm not going to let him use me."

 

"How the hell can you help it _when you're in love with him?_ "

 

"Because I fucking _know_ when I'm being used, fucking hell! Listen to me!" Dirk snaps. Dave lowers his voice into a mumble at that. "I'm taking precautions. I know that this thing isn't safe, that he can use me. But I have something on him too. I know that you know it. I saw the look on your face when I came in, and I _know_ that it wasn't just me that had something going on."

 

He hesitates at that, and Dirk smirks. He full-on fucking smirks, the asshole. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

 

"You saw something, Dave, don't lie," Dirk says, and Dave winces. 

 

"He was smiling, alright? He was smiling, he was making these goo-goo eyes behind your back and- and- fuck."

 

"He's in love with me," Dirk concludes, voice softer than usual.

 

Dave's stomach bottoms out on him when he notices it.

 

"You're fucking crazy for putting up with his shit," he says.

 

"He's fucking crazy for even attempting to put up with my shit," Dirk says in return.

 

Dave has nothing to say to that.

 

 

\-----

 

 

"You have quite an issue when it comes to Jake English."

 

"He's an asshole, and he's a flirty one," he states point-blank. He takes a minute to look down at his Biology notes before he adds, "I don't trust him."

 

"You don't trust a lot of people," she says. He guesses that she's studying, same as him, from the sounds of rustling paper beside him.

 

"I trust _you_ , so you better not ruin that while you've got it," he says, earning a scoff from her. "What? I'm serious."

 

"You're not going to take offense to my dating Kanaya, are you?" She asks. He looks up at her, taking in the quirked brow and her lips forming a grim line. "Because she hasn't done anything wrong."

 

"Nah, she's cool in my book," he says with a sigh, letting himself relax as he sits back in his chair. "A bit scary, but she's cool for you."

 

"I'm glad that she has your approval," she drawls, noticeably mocking the twang he has whenever he drawls out his words. "You're very difficult to appease, Strider."

 

"It's one of my charms," he drawls right back with a grin.

 

 

\----

 

 

It starts on a Monday.

 

There's a bottle of apple juice in his locker, a sticky note sitting innocently on the cap. It says, " _I heard you like AJ, so. Hope you like it._ "

 

He doesn't interrogate Rose about it just yet, even when he knows that she's the only one who he told about his locker combination. The writing also isn't hers, far too chunky and smudged that he can instantly tell that it's Egbert's.

 

As much as it pains him, he gives the bottle of AJ away to a guy luckily passing by his locker. He can't accept it, not when he knows who it's from.

 

On Wednesday, he finds three red roses and a note saying, " _Red's your favorite color, right?_ "

 

He can still ignore it. At least Egbert isn't directly bothering him anymore.

 

He takes the roses, inwardly admires how the thorns are removed, before presenting the roses to Rose. Because he can, and he's not too sure about her being an accomplice just yet. This is passive-aggressive war in all its glory. She sighs when she accepts the roses, but doesn't say anything more.

 

On Friday, he receives a CD with a note taped to it saying, " _I made this for you. Please give it a chance._ "

 

He can't indulge his curiosity. He can't. Instead he gives Rose the CD, letting her take the chance for him. She rolls her eyes, but promises that she'll tell him what's on it.

 

On Saturday, Rose calls him to say that everything on it is a piano piece. Dave jokes that he doesn't like Bach as much, but Rose tells him that everything is new.

 

Egbert made everything.

 

Almost instantly, he feels sick at the thought. Egbert couldn't have wasted time over something so stupid, right? Of course not. Maybe he was really bored and decided to record things, and it coincided with his plan to keep bothering him. (It doesn't even matter that Dave knows at all that Egbert can play the piano. It's not a famous fact about him, but John had told him before. Back when he still had the brunet.)

 

He tells her to keep the CD. She sighs that worrying sigh of hers and says, " _I'm only keeping this in case you want it back._ "

 

He won't want it back, but he doesn't tell her that.

 

On Monday of the next week, he receives a box of chocolates and a note saying, " _You were the best tutor I ever had. Thank you._ "

 

He shouldn't be choked up about it. He shouldn't feel like he's missing something but he is, because he misses it when the times were simpler and all he ever wanted from John was a smile whenever their hands brushed against each other.

 

He misses it so damn much.

 

He refuses to cry when he takes the box and hands it over to a girl passing him by, who regards him with a raised brow. He stares at her as he keeps his hand outstretched, and when she looks at his face, her confused frown softens until she just takes the box from his hand. He doesn't know what it is, what looking at his face did, but he breathes a sigh of relief when the gift is taken from him.

 

On Wednesday, he receives a slice of cake in a transparent container. There's no note, but there's frosting on the slice spelling out, " _I miss you._ "

 

John always hated cake, but he knew how to bake. He had promised, back in middle school, that he'd bake something for him. He never did.

 

He has to hide his face in his locker when he cries. He's barely even touched the container when he starts hiccupping, the tears brimming and rolling down his cheeks before he can stop it.

 

He just wants it to be over. He wants Egbert to stop torturing him like this, reminding him that he had the most stupid fucking crush on a guy who had barely even remembered his name.

 

This isn't _fair._ He'd already moved on because it wasn't worth it, liking someone who didn't notice him as much, but Egbert keeps _reminding him_. He keeps reminding him that he had thought he was in love before, keeps reminding him that he was a fucking idiot that ripped his heart out and attempted to give it to someone who didn't even give a shit.

 

This isn't fucking fair.

 

He throws the cake into the trash as soon as he's gotten himself into a decent state of calm. He can't think to give it away, not when the message written on the cake is meant solely for him.

 

On Friday, there's an SLR camera sitting on top of his stack of books.

 

His hands are shaking when he holds it and turns it around, checking if he's right in his assumption that it's an old model.

 

It is.

 

A frustrated sound escapes him when he cradles it in his hands, his eyes clenching shut as he tries not to let his anger get to him. He had always preferred cameras using photographic film instead of the digital ones, mostly because his mom had told him that his dad developed those sorts of film a lot. But he could never afford to buy one for himself, what with the lack of money. It's why he settles for the secondhand digital camera his mom had given him, letting the ache for his own dark room, the ache for something more natural, something beautiful, die down until it's only a dull throb in his chest.

 

This is like a punch to the face, when he thinks about it. But he keeps the camera anyway, tucks it safely in his hands as he lets his brother drive him home. He knows that it's pathetic, that it's like he's posting a huge neon fucking sign on his forehead saying "LOOK AT THIS PISS POOR DOUCHEBAG."

 

It's on Sunday, after he's done testing the camera with photos of the neighborhood, that he goes to a shop that develops camera film. The processing takes up to an hour at most because there isn't anyone else in the shop, so he gets his photos early.

 

He feels ill when he notices two photos he didn't take in the stack.

 

The first is of John Egbert, a cardboard saying " _I'm sorry_ " hiding the lower half of his face as he holds it up.

 

The second is John Egbert again, the cardboard probably flipped around as he has it lowered, his smile painfully _genuine_ , and Dave feels like he wants to throw up.

 

Written on the cardboard is, " _I love you._ "

 

 

\----

 

 

" _Rose._ "

 

"Dave," she says as a greeting, closing her book and setting it on her lap as she gestures to the space beside her on the bench. She raises an eyebrow when he keeps to his stance in front of her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

"Have you been helping Egbert? There's no one else who knows my locker combination but you."

 

The guilty look on her face is the icing on the cake, really.

 

"Perhaps. But there is no harm done in letting him give you gifts, I think."

 

"You know how I feel about him!" He cries, too angry and exhausted to care about anyone else listening in.

 

"I know that you're attracted to him."

 

"I _was,_ until he changed. You knew that, because I _told_ you. I moved on. It was just a fucking crush- so why are you _helping him out?_ I told you that I didn't like him!"

 

"Dave, please-"

 

"Don't you _please_ me!" He cuts her off, the frown practically etching itself onto his face as he gestures wildly with his hands. "I'm sick and tired of people saying that they know _better_. I'm sick of people telling me that I'm a freak, that I'm a faggot, that I'm _disgusting._ Now I can't even trust _you?_ "

 

She looks up instantly as though physically struck. "That's not- he only meant to give you gifts, I didn't think it would do you any harm."

 

"But I don't _want_ them. I don't want his fucking gifts. When I had the film in the camera developed, there was a photo of him saying that he _loves_ me, Rose."

 

The struck expression softens into pity and fuck, that's not what he's aiming for. "Dave," she trails off. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

 

A wounded sound escapes him when he processes the question in his head, his knees feeling weak enough that he gives in and sits next to her on the bench. "I don't want it. He's _lying._ He never noticed me before, why the fuck does he notice me now?" He sucks in a breath before continuing, "He's- everything he's doing, it just makes me feel more and more like shit because I get the feeling that he knew about me before. That I was stuck on him. That he thinks it's fucking hilarious, "why don't I just make fun of him while I'm at it?" There's no fucking way he's serious about any of this- and that's the thing. He's taking things too far. It's not even funny anymore."

 

"Is John honestly that cruel to do such a thing?" She asks, and he looks up at her with wide eyes and furrowed brows. "I'm being serious, Dave. Remove your biases, think on it clearly. _Would_ he do such a thing?"

 

"He likes pranks, always did," he says in return, narrowing his eyes at her in disbelief, "and he knows how to hurt someone."

 

She quirks an eyebrow. "Does he?"

 

"He was threatening to beat someone up in second year and he _meant_ it."

 

"How would you know that?" She asks again. He tries his hardest not to scream in frustration.

 

"Because I saw it, I saw his face, and he was just really fucking angry, alright? You can't tell me that he didn't mean it."

 

"What was he threatening the kid for, in the first place?"

 

He hesitates at that.

 

"He was telling the kid off for bullying someone else," he says, voice soft, guilt pooling in his stomach.

 

"Perhaps not the best way to go around it, but he meant well, didn't he? And he didn't actually hurt the boy."

 

"Maybe not, but he might have," he argues, even though he knows it's futile to argue with her.

 

"Dave. Maybe you should give him a chance?"

 

He feels his heart stop for a millisecond at those words. Rose doesn't notice (how could she have, anyway?) before adding, "He has changed, true, but maybe he means this? You haven't even given him the opportunity to tell you anything."

 

"That's because I don't trust him," he spits out, and she glares.

 

"You can't always live like this," she shoots back, and he startles. Why the hell was she the one being aggressive all of a sudden? "I'm _worried_ about you, can't you tell? You're my best friend, you're the closest thing to family that I have and you- you're _ruining yourself_ , Dave."

 

"How the fuck can you say that?" He asks, feeling the betrayal tightening its hold around his chest.

 

"You barely trust anyone! You're too scared to give anyone a chance because your brother's _heart_ was broken, because you don't want to feel the same thing. You're so scared that you're destroying yourself," she says, voice wilting into a whisper. "Please. Give him a chance. You don't even know if he's lying. You can't be certain that he can't love you, that he can't make you happy. I just want you to be _happy_ , Dave."

 

She's crying now, her whole frame quivering with how much she’s holding back her sobs. He swallows back the retort threatening to spill from his mouth, keeping himself silent as he shifts closer to hold her in his arms. "I love you," he says instead, ignoring the tight lock around his chest as he hides his face into her shoulder. "I love you."

He breathes in, lowering his voice before he says, "I'll think about it."

 

 

\----

 

 

He'd always known that Rose would be his breaking point. It wasn't that easy to make him give in, to make him actually give dating John Egbert a thought. Rose had never been the first to tell him to give Egbert a chance, after all.

 

They were all strangers at first, until he realized who they were. Egbert's friends, his teammates, his classmates who just so happened to be Dave's as well. They were small words at first, mostly innocuous, and he could handle them. Things like, "you should at least give him a chance," "he's a nice guy, y'know," "he really likes you," and so on.

 

But as things dragged on and as Egbert kept himself scarce, people became more persistent.

 

"I don't even know why he likes you!"

 

"You're not worth it at all."

 

"You think you're too good for him, don't you? Asshole."

 

"You're a snob, you know that? He's trying and you're just- ugh. Whatever."

 

And as much as he liked to think, to pretend that he wasn't human enough to feel, he still did. Which fucking sucks ass, to be honest. He's not supposed to care. Because "the people who mind don't matter, and the people who matter don't mind," right?

 

But it's not that easy. It's not, not when he's alone. Not when the only friend he has doesn't even know about what he's going through. He can't ever tell Rose about this when she's got her own rough patch, what with her drunkard of a mother and the shit he has to go through for being _smart._

 

This isn't even close to what she has to deal with.

 

So he kept quiet for a long while, stood strong as a concrete pillar even when people kept hammering nails into his slowly breaking body. He stood strong for so long that he barely noticed how he was cracking, breaking into two, because he was too busy with trying to look like he didn't give a damn.

 

He should have predicted it, he should have _known_ that Rose would be the one to break him when it comes to this.

 

She doesn't even know.

 

 

\-----

 

 

"Egbert."

 

Harley and English are staring at him when he steps up to them and speaks up, and while he's not prone to being intimidated by stares, he sure as hell knows that the two of them don't mean well.

 

Egbert doesn't notice, obviously. "Yeah?" He says, voice cracking a bit until he clears his throat. "Haha, uh, I mean. What is it?"

 

"I need to talk to you. In private."

 

"What've you got to say that you can't say to us, Strider?" Harley sneers.

 

"Jade! Shut up," Egbert growls right back, before turning back to him with a forced smile. "Um, sorry 'bout that- yeah, sure, we can go talk somewhere private. I know a room around here, so, uh. Follow me." He reaches out on instinct, probably to make it easier to lead him to wherever it is he thinks is private, before taking his hand back. Dave doesn't comment on it, keeping to his pace as he follows after the brunet.

 

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Egbert asks as soon as they're inside one of the empty classrooms, his hand automatically moving to shut the door when Dave enters the room after him.

 

He can't help but think of how many times Egbert must have had sex with varying people in different classrooms for him to have become accustomed to the action.

 

"You wanted a chance with me, right?" He asks, doing his best not to let his hesitation show as he hides both of his hands in his pants' pockets. "You want to date me, for some reason."

 

"Yes! I mean, uh," Egbert fumbles for his words, unintentionally backing into a chair with an "oof" before he starts laughing nervously. "Yes. I want- I want a chance. With you." He grins brightly, although it dwindles into a frown after a while. "What do you mean, for some reason? I want to date you because I like you. You developed the film, right?" He asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

 

"You were holding a cardboard that said I love you," he says.

 

"Because I do. I love you," Egbert says, sounding completely sincere that it makes something inside him ache.

 

He can't help it when he blurts out, "Why?"

 

Egbert frowns. "What do you mean, why? Why do I love you?"

 

He shrugs, putting on a wry smile. "I'm hardly boyfriend material."

 

"You would be. I think you would," Egbert insists. "We could find out."

 

"Tell me something first," he says.

 

Egbert nods eagerly, determination written all over his face. "Yeah, of course. What do you want me to tell you?"

 

"Why all the gifts?"

 

There's a moment of silence, of Egbert becoming flustered in what he assumes to be embarrassment, before he starts talking. "Uh. Well. I actually asked for help from your friend? Rose Lalonde. She was pretty great about the whole thing, and she gave me some tips. The cake was me making up for not being able to bake you one before. In middle school? And she made me realize that, you know, I really like giving you gifts. You deserve gifts. Did you like them?"

 

Dave should feel angry at Rose. He should feel angry at Egbert for talking to his best friend, for using her to get to him.

 

But he's tired. So fucking tired.

 

"Yeah," he says, voice lowered into a murmur, "I liked them."

 

"The camera?" Egbert asks again, an eager smile on his face. "Did you like it? I looked around everywhere for it, it's not really all that popular anymore."

 

"I know. And I loved it." Because he did, and he doesn't want to lie about that one thing.

 

It should be impossible to have a smile bigger than the one that was already on Egbert's face before. "I'm really glad you loved it," he says, "I thought you would, because you like taking photos and stuff. It just- it's really awesome, whenever I see you taking photos of things, because you look happy with it. I like seeing you happy."

 

He's pretty sure he's flushing red, just at that. Egbert saw him taking photos? When? He didn't even like taking photos in places where he knew there were a lot of people around who could see him. Why does Egbert sound so enthused when he's just talking about him taking photos?

 

"I guess the offer of dating is still up, then? I can still take it?" He asks, careful in his wording, still unsure about Egbert's aim.

 

"I- yes, of course! Why? You'll date me?" Egbert asks, coming nearer on instinct.

 

He doesn't step back, this time. He lets Egbert- _John_ come closer, lets the brunet take pallid hands in his own larger ones. "Yeah. Pretty hard to say no all the time," he jokes dryly. "Someone told me to give you a chance." John grins widely at that, releasing both of his hands in favor of taking him into an embrace.

 

"I love you," John says when Dave wraps his own arms around him, "I really, really do."

 

Dave doesn't say anything.

 

 

\----

 

 

When they start dating, he notices a few things.

 

John has a tendency of looking at him as though he can't believe that he's here. It's like he still can't believe that he's John's now, that he has what he wants. (But he doesn't, not really, not when he doesn't love John back.) John keeps looking at him like someday he'll disappear, that maybe he's an illusion- and that’s fine. Those are the kinds of stares that he can handle.

 

But when John stares at him like he's something important, precious, like he's _needed_ , he doesn't like it. He can't trust it at all. He can deal with rejection just fine, he can deal with being turned away, seen as a freak, treated like nothing, because he's used to it. He's lived for it every day.

 

John doesn't treat him like that at all. He's different, another novelty that he can't help from not trusting, because how can he? How can he trust someone who acts like he wants him, when he could have anyone else? He can't help it that he flinches whenever John raises a hand to touch him, he can't help from looking at John like he's something _odd_ , because he is. John hasn't been part of his world in a long while, and while John is patient, he’s unsure if the brunet will ever be willing to wait that long for someone like him.

 

John says that he’s in love.

 

He feels sick of himself just thinking about it. He feels like he wants to give in sometimes, to just lie down and sleep forever, because he doesn't know who's wrong anymore. He doesn’t know if he's wrong for not falling in love right back, if John's wrong for never leaving him alone and for thinking he's good enough to want.

 

He doesn't know if he was ever right in the first place, saying no to John. It's like fighting with everything all at once. He's just one teenager, just a child in a larger body, versus the whole school. When he goes against John, he goes against everyone else. He can barely fight or say no, he can't even have his own opinion when it comes to being with the brunet.

 

He doesn't know what to do.

 

He didn't know what to do on their first date, either. It was at Denny's, where they'd sat in a booth in a far corner all to themselves. John had insisted that they hold hands, and he let him. When he felt the foot brushing against his own, he pushed right back. He played along, and John smiled like he was his whole world.

 

He would feel guilty for lying to John, had he enough empathy for it. He should’ve been angry for having to put up with this at all. But all he feels is the exhaustion after fighting for so long, a sense of wrongness pervading under his skin whenever John twines their fingers together.

 

He never tells John that he loves him back, because he can't lie outright. _You have too many tells when you lie,_ his brother had said. And it’s true.

 

But in everything else- his body, the sounds that he makes when John touches him-, he doesn’t have to lie. How can he, when he doesn’t even know the first thing about intimacy like this with another person?

 

When they kiss, John treats it like it's always his last. He kisses like he loves so much that it hurts, he kisses like he wants. He can handle it whenever John kisses him roughly, teeth nipping at his lower lip, tongue working its way into his own mouth. He can deal with passionate things, with John holding him tightly and breaking him open, because breaking himself is what he’s best at.

 

But when the kisses are chaste, soft, and gentle, he isn't sure of what he needs to do. He always gets this look of confusion on his face, the trademark furrowed brows and wide eyes, to which John reacts with a laugh and a whisper of " _I love you, you dork._ "

 

This isn't what he expected at all.

 

 

\----

 

 

It started out as a joke. A test.

 

He'd been on the couch, head resting on the arm rest, both hands clutching at John's arms as they kissed. He was panting as soon as John pulled away, face flushed with exertion, his eyes glazed over and half-lidded. He felt hot all over, uncomfortably warm in his shirt even after removing his sweater vest, and his jeans felt tight. Sure, he may not have thought of John as the perfect boyfriend nor was he his first option, but he was attractive. And as much as it sounded shallow, he could forget in moments like these just how much of a douchebag the teen was in favor of remembering that he was really, painfully hot.

 

Just imagining him doing things with his mouth made it painful in his jeans.

 

"Dave," John whispered, his free hand pressing down against his obvious arousal. "Dave. What do you want?"

 

"Nn?" He sucked in a breath as he bucked involuntarily into the touch, red eyes turning up to look at John. "Wh-what?"

 

'What do you want," John repeated, a lazy grin on his face. "Come on, tell me. I'll do anything."

 

He's pretty sure he stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating at those words.

 

"Anything?" He repeated, eyeing John with curiosity. He'd have thought John would just take what he wanted.

 

"Anything," John repeated as an answer, licking his lips as he lowered himself in between his legs. "I promise."

 

He had to pause at that, taking the time to pull himself up until he was sitting up on the couch, John still kneeling in between his spread legs. Anything. He'd do anything.

 

"Suck me off," he said, voice soft but sure.

 

He didn't even have to say please when John started unzipping his jeans, tugging the clothing down until his lower half was left naked. He had to inhale after a while of keeping his breath in, his red eyes trained on John's every move as he lowered himself onto the couch. He let himself be touched, let John slide a hand under his shirt until he was quivering from the sensitivity of his own skin, his lower lip caught on his teeth as John simultaneously pinched at his nipple and lowered his head to lick along the length of his cock.

 

"Nn, _fuck,_ " he swore, trying to clutch on to the couch, until John stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "What-" he stuttered to a halt in his words when John led his hand down to the top of his head, letting his fingers curl in black locks as John grinned up at him. He let John lower his head first, mouth opening to suck around the head of his cock, before he tugged. John moaned.

 

He fucking _liked_ this.

 

"You can't- _haa_ \- can't be fucking serious," he groaned, letting the dark locks tangle around his bony fingers as he watched John sucking him off. It was obscene just watching him, his head bobbing up and down as he sucked, cheeks hollowing with every time he lowered his head to swallow more of him down. He had so many things to say, so many teasing words ( _"Bet you've had a lot of practice, huh?" "You're so fucked up, Egbert"_ ) on the tip of his tongue, but he kept silent. He could barely even form words with how uncomfortably hot he felt, his skin almost feverish in its sweating as he bucked up into John's mouth.

 

It was embarrassing, how soon it was that he came inside John's mouth.

 

He'd blacked out as soon as he felt his climax gripping him, a hoarse cry having ripped itself out of his mouth as he came. He was panting as soon as it was over, his whole body quivering and sensitive after the experience. He felt a little out of it, like a stranger in his own skin, his hands eventually falling away from their grip on John's hair. He wondered idly where John could have spat his cum out, seeing as they were both in John's living room and there wasn't a non-carpeted part of the floor that was close enough.

 

It was when he looked at John that he saw the brunet sitting up, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the cum that had spilled in his mouth, languid in his movements as he went on to clean up his fingers with nary a pause.

 

He blanched.

 

_Disgusting._

\----

===

\----

 

 

"Dave, put that damn thing down," John groans, frowning as he glares up at the camera covering the blond's face. "You've barely even kissed me, and you're pulling that thing out already?"

 

"You said you were fine with it," Dave argues, lowering the camera to his chest, lips forming a moue unknowingly. It's ridiculous how he can pull off being sexy and cute at the same time, it's almost _illegal._ "John, you said you'd do it. For me," he says, hands tight on his digital camera.

 

God, how can John even say no to Dave at this point?

 

"I will. But a kiss first. Please?" He reaches out a hand, the smile on his face widening when Dave takes it. He squeezes their hands together, letting Dave lean in as he cranes his head up to make it easier for both of them. "I love you, you absolute dork," he says in between kisses, before watching Dave pull away with his camera held up to his face. "Why is it me, again?" He asks as he lies back down on the bed, stretching his arms out before relaxing with a sigh.

 

"You know why."

 

He grins. "I want to hear you say it."

 

"Because I think you're attractive," Dave says softly, red eyes still hidden by the camera as he takes a few shots. "Because I think you're perfect for this. What more do you want?"

 

"I think you'd look better for this," John says in response with a smile. "You'd make a great model."

 

"I'm a better fit as a photographer," Dave drawls, lowering his camera to let John see the roll of his eyes. "My lanky body isn't fit for modeling."

 

"I'd love to disagree. You're beautiful." John grins when he sees the slow rise of the flush on Dave's cheeks. He reaches out again, trying his best not to let it show on his face how tight his chest feels with contentment and joy when Dave takes his hand. He twines their fingers together, sighing when Dave squeezes his hand back. "You're perfect. I'd hate to sound cheesy, but. You are. Your hair, your eyes, your freckles- everything about you. I could watch you all day."

 

"Sounds boring," Dave jokes, the smile on his face far too hesitant for John's taste.

 

"It isn't." John sits up, tugging Dave close using their twined hands. "It really isn't, believe me," he repeats, expression solemn as he reaches a hand out to curl around Dave's nape, using it to nudge the blond forward as he kisses him. He makes it last for as long as he can, his eyes closed as he tilts his head to make it easier for both of them. He wants to say, _I love you. There's no one else I'd want. I've seen so much, but it's only ever been you. You're beautiful, you really are, and I wish you'd believe me. I want you to love yourself. I wish you'll stay._

"I love you, Dave. I do. Alright?" He says as soon as he pulls away, a soft smile on his face as he looks up at Dave. "And I think you're good enough as you are. I wish you'd believe that."

 

Red eyes become dimmer at his words, but he tries his hardest not to frown. He's trying his best not to make Dave feel worse as he is, he won't do anything to ruin it. "Can I borrow the camera for a while?" He asks instead. "I want to show you what I mean, although I won't be as good as you."

 

Dave frowns in confusion at that, but he acquiesces and hands over the camera to him. He moves back until he's leaning on the headboard, motioning with a hand for Dave to sit in front of him on the bed, to which Dave hesitantly follows. He takes a moment to find the right angle, looking everywhere he can, before sighing and lowering the camera to his chest. "Can you move a little closer? Sit here," he says, patting at his bare thighs. Dave raises an eyebrow at the request but does as asked, crawling closer before sitting on his lap, both of his hands settling on his own thighs.

 

John chuckles at the bemused expression on Dave's face as he lowers himself, his head hitting the pillow as Dave remains firmly planted on his lap. "Don't move," he says, raising the camera to his face, checking to see if the angle is good enough, before taking a shot. He moves the camera away from his face once he's satisfied, checking the photo if it came out nicely.  He grins once he finds out that it's fine. "This is what I mean when I see you," he says, handing over the camera to Dave, who's looking at him with something like curiosity, his head tilted to one side. (It's adorable, really.)

 

The light that had caught Dave's skin in the photo made him look ethereal, his pale skin almost glowing like his red eyes under the sunlight. His freckles scattered all over his cheeks down to his chest were emphasized even more by the daylight, the floating dust that had just happened to be caught in the shot looking almost like fireflies as they flitted around Dave's naked form.

 

He looks surreal still, even without the photographic evidence.

 

"You're pretty decent at this for a guy who doesn't touch his camera a lot," Dave says, the corner of his lips twitching up in amusement. "You found a good angle."

 

"You look gorgeous at any angle, really," John argues, to which Dave laughs dryly.

 

"Sure I do," Dave mutters, before starting when John steals the camera from him without so much as a by your leave. "John, what the hell?"

 

"Enough of that," John says, turning the camera off before hiding it inside one of the drawers of Dave's bedside table. "Come on. You can look at me however you want without the camera."

 

"Could've given a guy a warning," Dave says with a sigh, before moving forward, a smirk growing on his face when John sucks in a breath in surprise. "See what I mean?"

 

"I don't think I mind these surprises," John drawls while bucking his hips up, grinning when Dave grunts in response. "What do you want me to do?"

 

"Touch yourself," Dave says after a moment of thought, lowering his head until his forehead is pressing against John's, his red eyes gleaming with dark intent before closing as soon as blue eyes look up into them. "Moan for me."

 

"Anything," John murmurs in promise.

 

 

\---

 

 

"My dad's going to be at home tonight," John says as soon as he hops onto the bike, his thin arms winding themselves around John's waist as he starts pedaling forward.

 

"My place, then?" He asks, chin propped up on John's shoulder.

 

"Actually," John clears his throat, pedaling becoming faster as he keeps on the side of the road. "I was thinking of introducing you to my dad. As my boyfriend."

 

He squeezes around John's waist in surprise, before letting up once John wheezes in response. "I- what? Why?"

 

"I don't want  to keep any secrets from him," John explains, eyes forward, unknowing of guilt-ridden look painting itself on Dave's face. He'd never told his mother about John, not once. He had thought that he could keep it a secret until it was over. There was no use in telling her if he knew that it wasn't going to last, after all. "And, well. He already knows about you. All that's left is the meeting."

 

"Why does he know about me?" He asks, having a feeling that he knows the answer, but being masochistic enough to want to hear it anyway.

 

"Because I told him about you. Are you crazy? Of course I'd tell him about the guy I'm in love with," John answers with ease, the grin obvious on his face even when Dave can't see him. "He really wants to meet you."

 

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he says, his fingers twining around themselves as he tries not to squeeze around John's stomach again.

 

"He'll love you, I'm sure of it," John insists.

 

"That's not," he trails off into a sigh, before biting on his lower lip. "Fine." If John wants to do this, then it's his own fault if things go wrong. There's nothing else he can do to avoid it, anyway.

 

He's barely hopped off of the bike when John takes his hand again, already having locked up the bike next to one of the trees by his house. "Don't worry," John assures with a grin as he squeezes the hand in his own, "you'll be fine."

 

He isn't too sure of that.

 

But of course, since it's John, things go well enough that he starts feeling nervous about it. Egbert the elder is all smiles when he sees him, having a cake already sliced for three on the dining table when he enters  the dining area after the brunet. "You must be Dave Strider," John's dad says in greeting, holding out a hand, to which he responds with his own outstretched (and quivering) hand. John's dad only smiles at that, squeezing his hand in comfort as he says, "No need to be so nervous, son. I can tell why John likes you."

 

"Um. Thank you, I guess. Sir," he adds lamely, wincing when the elder man chuckles.

 

"You can call me dad, if you want," John's dad suggests, making him blanch as John flushes red. "I don't mind."

 

"No, this is fine, mister Egbert."

 

"If you say so, son."

 

He tries not to react to the moniker. Really, he does.

 

The conversation goes well enough when they sit down and start eating. John does most of the talking, answering things on how they met and how they came to be together, how John had tried to woo him at first with pick-up lines before moving on to gifts. He can't help but be grateful that there are no questions pointedly given to him, although it makes him wonder on what his impression is on John's dad that the elder man avoids putting the spotlight on him.

 

"You're a nice boy, Dave," John's dad says after a while. "Just tell me if my son's giving you any trouble, alright?"

 

"Dad!" John yelps, embarrassed.

 

He doesn't have the heart to tell either of them that none of it will matter once this thing between him and John is over.

 

(He doesn't have the heart to tell John how painful it is to be reminded that he never had a father of his own.)

 

 

\-----

 

 

 _It's the last day of classes_ , _he had decided_ , _that he'll get it over with._

John had insisted, as soon as the clock started ticking, that they swing by his place in celebration of the end of classes and the start of summer. He had nodded, said yes, thinking that it would be best and safer for the brunet if he broke the news to him in a place he found comfort in. Although it shouldn't make that much of an impact on him, right? He was just one replaceable teen.

 

That's why he doesn't hesitate when he sits beside John on the sofa, the words already spilling from him as soon he opens his mouth.

 

"We should break up."

 

If John had been holding something breakable, he is certain that it would be broken at that moment.

 

"What?" John asks, horrified, searching his eyes for a clue. To what, he doesn't know. "Dave, I don't- _what_ did you just say?"

 

"I think we should break up."

 

There's another pause, before John cries, "What the hell, Dave! Have I," he fumbles for words, "have I done something wrong? What is it?"

 

"No. I think you're," he trails off, "perfect boyfriend material. I just don't think it'll work out between us, is all."

 

"Why? Dave, come on, if there's something wrong I can fix it-"

 

"John," he says firmly, trying to shake off John's hands as they clutch onto his arms. "Let go."

 

"No! Not until you tell me what I did wrong. We were doing fine! I don't _understand._ "

 

"I don't think we'll work out."

 

"You're not making any sense," John snaps, grip tightening around his arms.

 

He winces. "John, you're hurting me. _Let go._ "

 

John starts and rears back as though slapped, his hands releasing him as though he were on fire. "Sorry, I'm sorry- please," John says, voice cracking, "please, just tell me what I did wrong. I'll fix it. Let's just- don't get too hasty. We can talk this through, can't we?"

 

"No. I just said that I'd give you a chance. This was your chance. I'm done now."

 

"You can't just decide that!" John sputters, expression bewildered as he looks up at Dave. "I'm still- didn't it mean _anything_ to you? When I told you that I love you?"

 

"Truthfully? No. It didn't mean anything to me."

 

John looks stricken at those words. "That's just- why would you say _yes_ if you didn't mean any of it? If you didn't care?" John says, desperation seeping into his voice.

 

"Because you couldn't take no for an answer. Neither could your friends." He laughs bitterly. "Even my _best friend_ couldn't take no for an answer. So I gave you your chance. Aren't you happy?"

 

" _No!_ " John cries, fists clenching on his sides. "I'm not. I- after all this time, I told you that _I love you,_ and you tell me that it doesn't mean anything? That's just- that's _unfair!_ I thought it meant something to you, after everything!"

 

"Unfair!" He yells, standing up from the couch, no longer capable of staying within the brunet's reach. "You call _that_ unfair? Didn't you ever think that it was unfair that I had to put up with your friends calling me names, calling me an asshole and a snob just because I couldn't say _yes_ to your stupid fucking ass? Didn't you ever think that it was unfair to use my own fucking best friend against me? I never called you out on your harassment, Egbert! I never did- but you never stopped!" He pauses, hiding his quivering hands in his folded arms as he holds back his tears. "I gave you your fucking chance, you should at least be satisfied."

 

John looks almost broken at his words, his hands quivering as he keeps himself seated on his couch. "I- you never _told_ me, Dave. If you told me-"

 

" _If I told you?_ Are you that much of a douchebag? Anything I said wouldn't have mattered, compared to anything you said! I'm nothing!" He yells, voice quivering with exhaustion. "Isn't this enough for you? What more do you fucking _want_?"

 

"I never meant for things to get that bad," John says, pleading, "I didn't know. I just- I just want _you_. There's no one else."

 

"Well that's too bad, isn't it?" He snaps. "You can't fucking have me, Egbert."

 

"You shouldn't have strung me along if you never even actually wanted to give me a chance, Dave!"

 

"And what, I should've let myself be pushed around by your cronies? I'm fucking _tired,_ John. You got what you wanted, didn't you? You _had_ me. Now I'm done. This thing- this whole fucking thing is over." He sucks in a breath, making sure to look John in the eye when he says, "It's over."

 

He doesn't think to look back when he heads for the door, making sure to slam it shut behind him once he's outside. It's only when he's far away, his legs feeling as though they're burning when he pedals his way out of John's district, that he takes the time to cry- because he can't breathe a sigh of relief in this sort of situation. He doesn't feel better about himself after what he did, nor does he feel worse. It's the same as it ever was, the same as it ever will be.

 

In the end, he's just as much of a douchebag as John ever was, no matter what he does.


End file.
